One Definition of Initimacy

BY ERIN M. BERTRAM | THE NEW TERRITORY ISSUE 01

 

To be the thing that, in the distance, does the vanishing—

that’s what I woke, before dawn, wanting: blankets

at my knees, my t-shirt at the side of the bed. Things

are changing lately—the coffee, the radio. I sleep in fits.

 

That’s what I woke, before dawn, wanting: blankets

& your hands pushing over me like water. Your hands

are changing lately—the coffee, the radio. I sleep in fits.

I crave salt, the memory of my fingers in the sand.

 

And your hands rough on me like water. Your hands

opening me up the way I want them to. I admit, lately,

I crave salt, the feeling of my fingers in the sand.

Time. You & me. My fingers, slowly. And your hands, please,

 

roughing me up the way I want them to. I admit, lately,

on my knees, my t-shirt at the side of the bed. Things.

Time. You & me. My fingers, slowly. And your hands, please.

To be the thing that, in the distance, does the vanishing.

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